


But If the World Won't Let Me Have You

by Evesi



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed III, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evesi/pseuds/Evesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both know that theirs is the affair, the unholy union.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But If the World Won't Let Me Have You

**Author's Note:**

> Because writing at 5AM is clearly the best way to try and get rid of writer's block. Oh yes. /punches insomnia in the face

It’s against the rules, against the law, against moral codes, and it’s why this only ever happens in the dead of night and behind locked doors, curtains pulled tight over the windows. Charles knows that should his secret ever be discovered that his career--his _life_ \--would be over.

But, _oh_ , how could he give this up?

No one else says his name in that perfect whisper-purr that Haytham does, and there is no one else who can make him feel hot and bothered with a single glance. Those calloused hands (those fucking _perfect_ hands) are the only ones that feel right against his skin; those fingers are the only ones that ever feel perfect when tangled in his hair--pulling, yanking and forcing gasps past his lips.

Charles could spend the rest of his life kissing no other, and if he never heard another person groan his name in pleasure, he would never be left wanting. Haytham is perfect--hot, velvety heat around him--and there is nothing about him that he does not worship with his mouth, his hands, his eyes.

He wants to shout to the heavens, wants the world to know that this man is his and his alone, but Haytham will always quiet him with a slight shake of the head and a gentle press of his finger against his lips. Even in the privacy of their homes, their trysts must be clandestine, a secret to all but them.

So they muffle their voices in pillows, swallow their moans in kisses, and breathe their gasps into sweat-slicked skin. The time they spend together is always cut short; it’s never enough for Charles, and they never wake to the rising sun together. Always, always, always, they part ways once they’ve caught their breath, clothes hastily shoved back in place and rearranged.

He always wants more, but this is all that they can afford.

Charles longs to take Haytham slow--tease and suck, finger him open, and then fuck him until he’s a gibbering mess begging for release, and when they catch their breath, he wants to do it all over again until all he knows is _Haytham Haytham Haytham_. He wants to fall asleep with him by his side, wants to see what he looks like when dreams take him; Charles wants to know what it’d be like to lulled to sleep by his gentle and even breathing. He wants to wake the man up with kisses, make love to him as the city rouses around them.

Instead, they must make do with what few moments they can steal away together. The world sees them for the proper gentlemen that they try to be, and their Templar brothers hold them in the highest esteem. Haytham gives himself to the Order, becomes a slave to it as its Grand Master, and when the opportunity arises, Charles marries a native woman to do his part.

It’s for the Templars, he tells himself; it’s all to find the Temple. _It’s for Haytham._

Those words are the ones he repeats in his head over and over again when he sleeps with his wife and everything feels wrong. She’s all soft curves when all he wants are sharp angles and powerful muscle. Her voice doesn’t say his name right; her cries of pleasure do nothing to arouse him. To him, this is nothing more than a duty, a job he must perform.

One cold winter night, he tells Haytham that he feels like he’s being unfaithful by bedding her, and the man just smiles, the curve of his lips quiet and sad. They both know that theirs is the affair, the unholy union. This--heated kisses in dark alleyways, quick fucks in the dead of night, and affections tightly leashed--is all they’ll have.

It’s all they’ll ever have.


End file.
